


Prayer from out the lips of sin

by okapi



Category: The Canterville Ghost - Oscar Wilde
Genre: F/M, Ghost Sex, Poignant, The Ghost is 300, Vaginal Sex, Virginia is 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Virginia and the Canterville Ghost before the Ghost moves on. PWP.
Relationships: Sir Simon de Canterville/Virginia Otis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: Corsets & Lemons 2019 round - 1800 literature, Story Works, The 100 Multifandom Challenge





	Prayer from out the lips of sin

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Corsets and Lemons kink meme. The prompt was: _ghost sex before he moves on_. And for DW 100 Fandom prompt: 078. lighting. Also for the DW story_works 2019 paranormal challenge.

Virginia thought she felt the icy grip of the Ghost’s fingers warm slightly as they passed from the Tapestry Room into a narrow secret corridor. She did not know it was a narrow secret corridor at the time, for they were plunged into pitch darkness. They walked together and then stopped. Virginia heard a heavy door swing back on its hinges.  
  
This was little low room, with a vaulted ceiling, the only lighting a faint shimmer from a tiny grated window.  
  
Virginia saw the chained skeleton and the trencher and ewer, but her thoughts were on the old prophecy on the library window. She knew the Ghost wanted her to weep for his sins and pray for his soul right here on the cold stone beside his bones, but Virginia had other ideas.  
  
“Can you take me to a garden?” she inquired, “where the grass grows long and deep and the hemlock blooms its great white star flowers?”  
  
The Ghost wrung his hands and scratched his head, but when he saw the determined look on Virginia’ s face, he nodded.  
  
So, he took her by the hand and led her once more, now passing by his own cursed bones into a magical world of his own conjuring.  
  
The garden was a cemetery overrun with flowering shrubs and vines, a silvery moon lighting the flora, the stones, and Virginia herself.  
  
The Ghost sat upon a headstone, cutting a dejected figure if ever there was one, and Virginia’s heart overflowed with pity.  
  
She would give him eternal rest and free him from his bondage, but, perhaps, not in the precise way he anticipated, for as the words of the old prophecy sang in Virginia’s mind, her body, her young, budding body, began to stir.  
  
_When a golden girl can win_  
  
She was the golden girl. She knew that with certainty.  
  
She stood before the Ghost and began to remove her torn habit. She unpinned her hat and set it on the ground. She carefully removed her jacket and chemisette and laid them atop the hat.  
  
The Ghost stared, his puzzled expression fading when Virginia put her hands into her hair and began to unpin her coiffure. His eyes were soft by the time she shook her head and let the long golden tresses tumble about her shoulders.  
  
Chinese white and indigo might make for scenes gloomy to paint and difficult to execute, but moonlight off the canvas, Virginia noted, was quite heavenly. It cast an incandescence on her bare chest and shoulders; the silvery sparkle lighting her skin and the gilded color shining forth from her hair made her think of jewelry. She was not alone in this thought, for the Ghost said,  
  
“You are the most precious gem of all centuries arranged in the finest setting.”  
  
She stepped toward him with all solemnity and earnestness and slipped between his parted legs and took his face in her hands and kissed his lips. His lips were icy, like his fingers had been, but warmed just as easily as she pressed her mouth to his.  
  
The Ghost groaned a groan that would not have frightened a child, or fooled an adult, and brought his hands to Virginia’s breasts, cupping them, then fondling them tenderly.  
  
Virginia turned in his touch and leaned back against him.  
  
She heard him breath deeply and felt the light pressure of his face against the back of her head.  
  
“Your perfumed hair is divine,” he choked. “Sweeter than the first buds of spring, my golden girl.”  
  
This was her spring, Virginia knew, her deflowering. The rules of propriety and society as well as something curious inside her, something she could never name, but the source of which she now realized was the prophecy and this imminent coupling, had forestalled the Duke of Cheshire’s physical advances until now.  
  
But she knew a good deal in theory. When the Duke of Cheshire had announced his visit, Virginia’s mother’s maid had taken Virginia aside and given her a broad education in the possibilities that would not lead to unwanted child-bearing, and Virginia had been allowed to observe, clandestinely, of course, Hattie’s dalliances with footmen and others. She’d explored her own body and learned quite a bit from medical text in the family library.  
  
What she did not know, however, was how the Ghost managed to lift her hair and kiss her neck and play with both breasts at once, but there were some things, she supposed, that ought to be left to mystery. She reveled in the pleasure of his attentions, then asked, in a coquettish voice she’d never employed before,  
  
“Did you violate many women in your time, Sir Simon?”  
  
“Apart from the one I stabbed to death?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“No, in life, I hadn’t much taste for that singular form of depravity.”  
  
Virginia was both pleased and disappointed.  
  
He was nibbling at her earlobe, and Virginia found she quite liked that. He brought his fingers to her lips, and she wet the tips of thumb and index finger. Then he began to tease her nipples, and she found that she liked that even more.  
  
_When a golden girl can win_  
Prayer from out the lips of sin  
  
The Ghost was the one to be praying. His were the lips of sin.  
Virginia turned once more and sank, her skirts billowing like mushroom tops until she was kneeling before him. She looked up, hoped the lighting was perfect.  
  
And it was.  
  
Hers was a face promising the gift of pleasure, a pleasure the Ghost had not known in three hundred years, at least, and a pleasure that she had on good authority, Hattie’s and that of her own eyes, few males, ephemeral or otherwise, could resist.  
  
The Ghost looked down upon her, awe-struck, and then, after she began to nuzzle and nose at the bulge in his breeches, she looked up and saw in his countenance the element she desired: abject desperation.  
  
She sprang from him at once.  
  
“Oy!” he cried.  
  
She dropped her jaw as if to take his ghostly member in his mouth, then taunted, “Do you want it?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“Shall you take it if I refuse?”  
  
He looked at the ground and shook his head ruefully.  
  
She turned to let the moon light her nude torso in profile.  
  
“Then pray for it.”  
  
He recoiled.  
  
She turned away and looked over her shoulder.  
  
He hung his head and slid to his knees and put his hands together.  
  
“Oh, God, please let this angel put her sweet lips upon me.”  
  
Virginia fell in front of him, threw her arms around him, and kissed him soundly. He kissed her back and slowly got to his feet and returned to his makeshift bench.  
  
Virginia inched forward on her knees, smiling.  
  
The Ghost opened his breeches, and she gasped.  
  
Her mouth genuinely watered, and she was ravenous for him.  
  
He groaned.  
  
Virginia parted her lips, extended her tongue, and begin to lick the ether that surrounded the throbbing member.  
  
The Ghost trembled.  
  
“Oh, God, please,” he prayed.  
  
But Virginia continued her pantomime, licking up an invisible shaft, then suckling a round prickhead.  
  
The Ghost’s hands gripped the stone, and his trembling grew more violent.  
  
Finally, a single pearly tear formed at the tip of his prickslit, and Virginia said in an angelic voice,  
  
“Sir Simon, you are crying.”  
  
He moaned, this tone strained with want and incredulity. “So I am, so I am.”  
  
_When a golden girl can win_  
Prayer from out the lips of sin,  
When the barren almond bears,  
And a little child gives away its tears  
  
“Let me give away my tear,” said Virginia sweetly. She licked the pearl, then rose and fed to the Ghost from her mouth, like a mother robin feeding a babe in nest.  
  
“And let my barren almond bear,” she added.  
  
And with that, Virginia sprang up, threw off her skirts and undergarments, and impaled herself with one violent motion upon the Ghost’s prick.  
  
Virginia bit her lip to mask the pain, and a nightingale erupted in so delicate a song that she soon forgot her discomfiture and began to ride the Ghost like her favorite pony, at a full-tilt gallop.  
  
An eldritch noise escaped the Ghost’s lips, echoing off the silent stones around them, but Virginia rode on, bouncing hard, clenching with her thighs and muscles within.  
  
She imagined that she was outrunning the Devil himself. And maybe she was.  
  
Finally, the Ghost grabbed her by the hips and rolled them until she was beneath him, her legs folded tight.  
  
He thrust and thrust and thrust and collapsed upon her, heaving, panting.  
  
“My angel,” he murmured as he kissed her hair, her temples, her cheekbones, and the tip of her nose. “All my treasures are yours. My soul, yours.”  
  
Virginia smiled, then recited,  
  
“’_Then shall all the house be still_  
And peace come to Canterville.’”  
  
“I shall, at last, sleep,” said the Ghost. “And dream, eternally, of you, my golden girl.”  
  
The nightingale concluded its serenade, and Virginia gazed in wonder at the curious tendrils of moonglow lighting, bathing their bodies.  
  
And so, later, when the Duke of Cheshire asked his duchess if she would ever tell their children some day of what had happened between her and the Ghost during that fateful encounter, she blushed, wondering to herself if any of her offspring would ever show a predilection for supernatural fornication and how one would go about identifying such a trait. But, yes, she decided, finally, if any showed that tendency, it would most certainly call for a frank tête-à-tête, perhaps with detailed illustration.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!


End file.
